In Chains
by iseefireandrain
Summary: Liz is told to go to a warehouse where she finds Red chained from the ankles and wrists. So he takes advantage of the situation. Red/Liz sort of a try at a lemon/smut. Not sure if it's to be a one-shot or multichapter.


_**I**** own nothing involving the Blacklist. I'm just a big fan.**_

_**How this came about, I have no idea. But my girlfriend laughed and suggested the idea of writing a lemonish/sexual bit about Reddington and Liz being stuck while he is confined in shackles and him using it do his advantage and the pair of them having a moment. I think it started because she saw the promo of Reddington in chains and finds JS sexy, so... this is all her fault. :P Alice Cooper's Poison was playing while I wrote this lol, it seemed to fit the mood.**_

_**I do hope you enjoy it, I don't know if it is anyone's cup of tea, I hope I have done justice to the characters. So just to be warned, it contains a bit of lemon in it. I apologize if it's lousy, I've never written something like this before. Feel free to let me know your thoughts.**_

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><p><strong><em> In Chains<em>**

Red had called Liz about being in a precaurious situation. His voice had sounded urgent, and uncharacteristically stressed, and his breathing was worrisomely laboroured so she knew she had to come to his aid. It's only natural she would, since he has done it to her so many times, abeit by uncoventional means and tactics. But when she reaches the location he informed her of, and she notices how empty and secluded the area is, she realizes it isn't at all the kind of precaurious situation she was expecting him to be in.

He got her worried, by his tone on the phone when he made the call. She suspected he had gotten into trouble with an adversary, since no doubt he has so many. But as she reaches the outside parking lot of where he says he is, she realizes otherwise. It's empty, and dead silent. No cars in the parking lot, except for the car Dembe usually uses to transport Reddington around in. She looks at the pristine exterior of the black car and she has to squint her eyes against the harsh shine of it as it reflects back at her in the early morning sunlight. She notices the tinted window at the driver's side is halfway scrolled down, and there, Dembe is, wearing tinted shades and serenely listening to music on the radio. Every now and then, he bobs his head to the music, and when he finally notices she's arrived, he leans towards the window impassively.

"Inside there," he says, nodding to indicate the run-down and decrepit tin warehouse near them. "Raymond's inside."

Instinctively, she takes her gun out from its holster hidden beneath her work blazer. She's not so sure what to expect, but surely if there was serious trouble, Dembe would not be in the state he is now, sitting serenely in the car listening to the radio as if everything is good and right in the world. Liz knows how much Dembe and Reddington care for each other, and if it's anything serious, Dembe would be out of his mind with worry. Since he isn't now, does that mean Reddington was over exaggerating on just how precaurious and threatening the situation was?

Still, just for her own personal safety, she keeps her gun lowered in front of her as she approaches the door to the old warehouse. She notices chains that had previously been holding the warehouse locked have been cut apart with bolt cutters, probably all Reddington's doing. After all, she knows Reddington isn't exactly one to respect property or let any barriers stand in his way. She pushes the door open by lifting her leg and giving it a little nudge with the sole of her shoe, and it creaks halfway open ominously.

Once she slips inside, she stops for a moment, inspecting the surroundings of the warehouse nervously. Holes in the roof make streams of light fall on the cracked pavement flooring, proving the only source of light in the warehouse. It's just an empty, abandoned warehouse, probably previously used for storing cars, considering the terrible amount of grease and oil staining the concrete that she can make out. But where on earth is Reddington, and why did he ask her to meet him here, of all places?

"Red, I'm here," she states loudly into the empty nothingness of the room. "You wanted me here, so here I am. But I need to know, why here of all places? Or is this somehow relevant to the case?"

She hears a strange and alarming noise from the far left of her; the movement of chains clashing together. She spins around in that direction, trying to see clearly through the darkness, keeping her gun drawn.

It starts to piss her off. Patience has never been her strongest point.

"If this is part of some game you have where you jump out of some shadow to scare me to death, then I'm not buying it." The words are strong and fiece yet her stomach curls in dread and anticipation. She hears the clanging of chains again in the same spot and she starts to move slowly, putting one cautious foot forward, then another. "All right, this ends right now. Stop trying to scare me. What the hell were you thinking? I thought you were in serious trouble by the nature of your call. So which is it?"

Getting closer, she hears someone breathing in the far left corner of the warehouse. At the exact location she heard the movement of chains rustling and scraping together, as if someone was battling to get themselves free from a set of restraints.

Is this the precarious situation Reddington was originally calling about? As she inches closer, a stream of light through a hole in the tin roof gives off a miniscule source of light. Little flies swirl and dance around the small stream of light as she steps through it, and then she hears the clashing of chains again.

"What on earth-" she begins, but stops when her breath hitches in her throat at the sight.

Reddington, on his knees on the concrete, hands behind his back, metal cuffs around his ankles connecting from a solid chain stuck deep into the cement on the grotty ground. He's restrained like some type of wild animal, his head resting against his shoulder, side of his face concealed from her.

For a moment she fears he's unconscious and as she slips her gun back safely in its holster and approaches, she gets down on her knees near him despite the fact that she knows the grease is going to soil her trousers. Her heart gives a little jolt in her chest as suddenly he raises his head and looks at her, parting his lips, relief in his eyes. It's hard to see him properly in such dim conditions, so she can't work out his expression entirely, but she thinks he's relieved.

This is the last thing she's expecting, in being called in to a location only to find Reddington in such a sticky predicament. How on earth did he possibly get himself into this postion? she wonders, her brows furrowing. Or does she not even truly want to know?

She tries to look for any sign of blood, but her eyes can't see well enough, not without that small patch of light there anymore. So she has to resort to using her hands instead, investigating, experimentally. She slides her hands up and over his chest, feeling the heat of his body soaking through the fine material of the shirt he is wearing and the first instance she touches and makes contact with the bare warm skin around his neck, she hears the sudden desperate jerk he makes with all of his strength to get his hands free from the chains.

God, is his hands and wrists all bound up to the floor as well? This all just doesn't add up, why Dembe was sitting outside in the car, a picture of ease, while knowing Reddington was chained and confined to the floor in this dark and dismal warehouse the way he was. Didn't they have a sense of loyalty to one another? Why isn't Dembe helping him himself?

She doesn't realize how much she cares for Reddington until then.

She uses her hands, sliding them over the side of his face, and up and over the back of his scalp and his short hair with her palms. There's no blood, no wounds. Not any she can feel there with her fingertips. There's no wetness between her fingers, no slippery blood. But she hears it, all the same; The sudden change in rapidness of his inhalations and exhalations.

"What happened? Why are you like this?" she asks quietly, that question still unanswered and explained. She puts her hands on his shoulders, following the outline of his arms with her hands blindly, all the way behind him, kneeling over him. His sleeves are folded to his elbows and she's not expecting to touch his bare arms as she goes, but as she finds his hands, she feels how they are tightly bound together by a metal ring that is connected to the floor. "Let me guess: Did you piss someone off _that badly_ and now they've done this to you?" It's not a hard picture to paint. "Why isn't Dembe helping you? I saw him sitting out in the car?"

She knows its no good, but she still tries when she wraps her hands around one of the metal rings, attempting to pry it loose.

She neither expects it or feels the movement to warn her in advance when Red leans forward, his mouth suddenly close to the side of her face and her ear. "Because that would frankly go against the grain of the plan, Lizzie." Her pulse races when she feels his warm breath against her earlobe.

"Oh, yeah? And what plan are you speaking of exactly?"

He laughs softly, always determined to make light of any given situation. "This is all so wonderfully romantic, isn't it? The... lack of lights and all of these... restraints?"

She shakes her head in disbelief. "If you think this is in any way romantic, then clearly there is something very wrong with you."

"Well, regardless, I am sure this comes as a great enjoyment to you, no doubt just as much as it certainly does for me." His voice is husky and as she moves away quickly, placing a safe distance between them, his mouth scrapes against the lining of her jaw, hot and open, startling her. "Perhaps even more so for you."

"How would I possibly get some kind of enjoyment out of this?" she retorts sourly. She's not him; She doesn't like being trapped in weird and uncomfortable situations. "I'm not sick like you!"

"That's debatable."

"Look, will you stop talking for even _just one second _so I can try get you out of here? What a shame no one bothered to gag you." Dembe is probably way more helpful with this than she is. Why Red bothered to call her for her assistance, she has no idea. She lifts herself up off the ground, dusting her knees off hastily. "Forget it, I'm going to go get Dembe. I'm sure he can be of way more help than I can."

"Oh, extremely doubtful." He's acting like this is all some humorous game to him, heaven knows why. "You're in control, Lizzie. I'm merely helping by playing my part."

"Helping? How are you helping me? What are you talking about? This has nothing to do with me, this is all about you and this...," she flaps her arms around futilely, lost for words on even how to begin phrasing the weirdness of it all, "...bizarre situation you have gotten yourself into after you clearly pissed someone off! So please, don't bring me into this!"

"Feisty."

Now he's really getting to her. "You know, I don't get you," she sighs in annoyance, looking down at him. "Are you capable of being serious in a situation like this at all, just for once?"

Red gives a fierce jerk at the restraints on his wrists again, and then he hisses through his teeth and groans sadly, "Ouch, well, that certainly wasn't my smartest move."

Unable to help it and because it's him, she takes pity on him, getting behind him on her knees and attempting to pull the metal ring open again. Where is a key when you need one? "I don't get this, any of it. How did this happen? The only logical explanation I have is that you've clearly pissed someone off in the wrong way, and now they have retaliated by doing this to you."

She gets herself unknowingly into a precarious situation of her own as she gets in front of him again, real close, her knees over his. In one swift move, suddenly he's freed enough from the shackles to lift his arms and put them over her head, keeping her face close to where his is, the chains dangling down her back.

Her back arches and tenses involuntarily and if she had been facing the other way, she realizes she could have been in serious danger with the chains being held over her windpipe. She's practically straddling him now, except she's not going to dare let herself be lowered down into his lap, she keeps her legs straight from the knees upwards, putting as much space there as she possibly can.

She feels a sudden trickling sense of fear overcome her by the whole entire thing; While she knows and trusts that Reddington would never dare purposefully harm her, his actions now aren't giving her much faith to fall back on. He can be unpredictable and volatile, perhaps not always directed at her, but at other people.

And so now they are stuck together. _Literally._

"What are you-?" she gets out anxiously, feeling her heart thumping in her chest. "Red," she warns in the flattest voice she can muster.

She can't move so much as an inch because his arms are around her, his forearms resting lightly on her shoulders, the small bit of chain separating the metal rings clasped around his wrists touching the back of her hair eerily. She hears and feels the breathless chuckle Red gives out as it fans across her face, and it's then she realizes. Oh, she realizes all right. Set-up; This entire thing was a fabrication, a set-up, probably orchestrated by Reddington himself. He knew she couldn't possibly resist falling for his trap and attempting to help him, and she hates herself for him being right.

If she hadn't been so naïve, she wouldn't be in such this uncomfortable position right now. She had no idea that the chains restraining his wrists weren't that far into the ground, that he could still move somewhat, at least enough to effortlessly put his arms around her.

"My God, what are you doing?" she whispers breathlessly. She hates the fact that their faces are close together, that she's kneeling over him on her knees, that she's practically straddling him. "What are you trying to accomplish with all of this? Or was this your entire plan all along?" His chest brushes up against her breasts as she feels him lean up over towards her slightly. 'This isn't funny, if that's what you're trying to get me to think?"

"You're an FBI Agent," he says, his words all uneven and trembling with some twisted sense of satisfaction. He's laughing at her, she just knows he is. "And yet, you fail to tell the difference between a genuine conundrum and a sham one?" He tusks at her with his tongue, infuriating her further. The smug bastard. "Not very good detective work, Agent Keen. Unfortunately I am going to have to give that one a C minus."

"This ends right now." She tries to sound firm and deadly serious on the matter. She tries to fix a stern and penetrating gaze on him with her blue eyes. Pity it's too dark for it to do her any justice. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but this ends here, Red." He gives out a full-bodied laugh at her words. Clearly he isn't taking this all to seriously at all. "Right this instance. I'm standing up now and I'm leaving."

"Yes, well. Good luck with that."

She tries to stand but, naturally, his arms and the chains are well in the way, restraining her from any kind of movement. No matter how forceful she is, it's no good. The meager bit of metal chain only ends somehow touching and colliding with the nape of her neck, chilling her all over.

Losing her cool and doing the first thing she can think of doing, she reaches down between their legs, finds her well-intended part of him she wants to find, and she gropes him with her hand, extra hard, squeezing down. It's the only part of self-defense she can think of given the circumstances and what little she has to work with. She can shoot him with her gun, sure, but how on earth is she going to talk herself out of that one if Cooper notices Reddington's been inflicted with a gunshot wound?

It gives off the reaction she was aiming for; Red stiffens underneath her, he gives off a little pained grunt, and she can't suppress the wickedly satisfied smile that comes across her face. He hisses through his teeth and makes another deep noise at the base of his throat when she squeezes down even tighter.

"There, now you know I just hurt your testicals," she spits out, her heart soaring with pride. "You have two seconds tops to release me before I do more harm, got it?"

While he's certainly affected by her hurting his precious manly jewels and clinging on tight, as any man inevitably is, she's left off-guard when another breathless chuckle escapes his lips. Suddenly his hands are gripping her shoulders tightly and she has no choice but to move forward over him slightly, her hands still cupping and gripping his precious parts through his trousers vindictively.

"Yeah, but..." He hisses again, and swallows loudly, "There's always a blurred line between pleasure and pain, Lizzie." She can tell he's smiling. She just can. It's so not what she's wanting out of this, it was the furthest away from what she was attempting to do, as far as reactions go. He makes another deep, gutteral groan through his teeth when she loosens her hold a bit. She doesn't want to damage him too much, after all. "And, as for me, personally myself, I have always been rather... kinky when it comes to sexual proclivities in the bedroom."

She realizes he's actually turned on by this. She can tell; It's in the way his voice is; Low, husky, full of both pleasure and agony, the way his body in upturned from the concrete towards her, the way she's willingly letting her body sit against his. He's actually turned on! And maybe, just maybe, she's finding it rather exciting as well. What the hell is wrong, with either of them?

"You're a sick and twisted man, Reddington," she grumbles through her teeth, pretending to be more disgusted than she truly is.

"Perhaps. But I'm not the one who is still holding and is now massaging a man's testicals, am I, Lizzie?"

She feels a flare of offense go through her. "I'm not massaging your testicals," she whispers out in defense of herself.

She sees his head move, just the mere outline, and she knows he's looking down at what her hand is doing, to his crotch. He gives out a dismissive grunt, and she sees his head bob to the side contemplatively. "I suppose that is always a matter of self-interpretation."

Startling her, he leans forward, resting his forehead against hers, and she gets a dawning suspicious that he's going to try to kiss her. Would she really care if he did, either way? Realizing belatedly that she's still got his testicals in a grip-lock, she lets him go, resting her hands on her knees instead. And then it happens, Reddington gives a little yank of the chain against the back of her neck, and she lifts her head up and her mouth finds his. It's the first time they have ever kissed and it's surprisingly not as disgusting or intolerable as she thought it would be. Reddington, The Concierge of Crime, may be a smug and self-righteous bastard, but there's no denying he has serious skills when it comes to kissing.

Her head goes blank of any previous thoughts and her anger dissipates as he takes his top lip in-between hers, sucking on her bottom lip, and she feels herself shudder deviantly all over. Her hands fly up off the appropriate place that she had put them, on her thighs, and instead they seem to have a mind of their own. Curling her fingers like claws, she uses her fingernails to scrape them over the silky fabric of his dress shirt as she closes her eyes tight, when he tilts his head to the side in order to deepen the kiss between them.

It's practically coercion and she's stuck in a hostage situation, all things considered. Her reasoning into giving into the moment, since she'll never admit it, out loud anyway, that he's really turning her on right now. She's Reddington's hostage, she has no choice to get free since he's confining her to the floor as well, but surprisingly she doesn't give a rat's ass about that right now.

It's scary how much Liz finds she wants this, how much she needs this, and is basking in every moment of it. She never thought she'd ever need Reddington in this way, that she ever could, but she does. It's a situation that enlightens her completely. Usually she has such a hate/love thing going on for him, that's its impossible for her to wrap her head around how she truly feels for the man. At this point in time, she wants to cause him pain- but in the good way. Causing him pain always is her biggest thrill, like with the hotel-neck-pen incident. She wants to hear him scream her name.

She finds she's wanting with such aching need most of all for him to put his hands on her, to run his hands all over her, particularly up and in-between her legs, and yet, she can't have that. Those stupid chains have made sure of that. But to ease her and give her some sense of release, Liz leans back from him, grasping the back of his collar in a tight and violent grip, and she makes Reddington stand up on his knees as well. He's right; She is in control despite somehow feeling utterly powerless as well.

_She holds the reigns here._

He might have her stuck to him by the chain, but still, she holds the power here.

The concrete feels like hell on her back and her spine suddenly twangs with a sharp pain as she tries to lay down, literally holding the back of his neck in a choke-hold in order to bring him down on her and as she gets him to come over her as much as he possibly can, despite the fact he can't move his ankles much due to those cruel restraints, it's harder than she first thought.

She can only be pleased when Reddington takes initiative in warning her softly to move closer and closer towards where his feet are shackled. As she scoots closer to him, clinging to his vest, it still doesn't offer her that release she needs- not as much as she was hoping for- when he awkwardly gets on top of her with limited movement. The chain bounding his wrists together sting through the back of her neck painfully as Red tries to get into some kind of position on top of her, while his arms are still around her back and realizing how terribly unsuccessful the whole thing is, Red resorts to kissing her on the mouth again while his knee goes between her legs, rubbing and moving against her with his trouser-clad thigh.

It's terrible, and she hears herself moaning and whimpering something shocking. She doesn't understand how her own body can betray her like this.

Liz is finding perfect friction with his thigh sliding up and down at the spot between her legs and every now and then, when a frisson of pleasure begins to start building up, the back of her head will hurt again from the chain, it'll distract her, and the pleasure will drain down again. It's the most frustrating thing in the world, she realizes.

But Reddington, being an intellectual and somehow knowing how to worm himself out of any tricky situation, he leaves her mouth alone for a second and decides to explore other exciting vicinities instead while she caresses his head with her hands. Starting with her throat, her collarbone. Too bad he's restricted from moving so much, but still, it makes an unbearable heat gush over her body, the way he uses his tongue, lips, and his especially his teeth to gently nip into her skin and give her just the right amount of equal pleasure and pain.

Liz watches as his forehead creases as he sits back on his ankles and looks down at her with an unidentifiable emotional burning in his eyes for her. He shakes his head silently as he bites the inside of his cheek, looking like a man on the verge of becoming a bit murderous if he isn't released from the shackles soon to give her the release and pleasure she's craving for and equal bits sexually frustrated himself.

She knows Reddington is a man who would hate to deny her of anything, and if he is going to do something, she knows he is dedicated into doing it to the best of his ability. Why do a job if you can't do it properly? He'd be going out of his mind right now, with not being able to satisfy her in a way that will keep her coming back for more, until the very end. And she knows it.

The door clatters open, just as Reddington is paying delicious attention to Liz's cleavage area through neck of her blouse, and she feels her heart sink as he lifts his head and peers over at the door that has just opened.

"Another fifteen minutes, my friend," he says calmly, but Liz notices the way his jaw moves in all of his impatience, like she's a buffet spread out before him and he's been interrupted from devouring her.

But when Liz turns her head to look in confusion, she notices Dembe standing there, holding something small and dangling it off his finger. She might be mistaken but the man looks distinctively approving of the sight laid out before him on the grotty ground.

"Oh, but your appointment-" Dembe starts. "You don't want to be-"

"The appointment can wait," Red cuts over him, his voice hard and cold as ice. "Once I am finished... attending to Agent Keen, then you may uncuff me and we can be on our way. Practice a little patience, my friend." Liz finds Red saying that so hypocritical, considering right now he hardly looks a patient man himself in the process. But Dembe's words have effectively put a damper on her mood, and she tries to sit up, only to headbutt Reddington's chest.

"Don't leave," she warns Dembe, angry and turned on. Especially turned on, heaven help her. "You uncuff Reddington this instance so I can get away from him. We're done." She sees a flash of dangerous annoyance in Reddington's eyes, he opens his mouth to protest against that, but she cuts him off briskly while lifting his arms and the chain back over her head so she's free, "I mean it. We're done. No more of this. I had a suspicion that you got yourself into trouble like this on purpose, and I was right."

Dutifully, Dembe comes closer to uncuff Reddington's wrists and ankles. She doesn't dare look his way as she fixes up her blouse and flattens down the back of her hair. As she stood, her legs were horribly unsteady and it was embarrassing, knowing how much of an effect Reddington seemed to have had over her. He faked the whole thing, and for what? To seduce her? Like he really had to work that hard. A simple, "I want you, Agent Keen" would have sufficed.

She can't help but smile when, as Reddington goes to stand, he appears sore and a little limp. Particularly in the groin area when he walks. He gives her one of his winning smiles as he starts to approach her, flexing and unflexing his hands and wringing them to work the numbness out of his wrists and fingers. She hates how sexy he can be, how confident. It's hard for her not to like that.

He gives her a nod, so cocksure of himself as he straightens out his shirt and vest to rid it of any creases or wrinkles. "We'll resume this later."

"No, we're not going to be resuming anything," she says stiffly. "You son of a bitch," she adds, not entirely feeling the words.

His face falls and turns deadly serious, and she kind of enjoys it. It's like denying a man a scoop of ice-cream on a swelteringly hot day.

"You and I, this... what we were doing, it's over now. It's done, and it never happens again. Understand?"

Before he can so much as get a word out to change her mind, she walks out briskly, ignoring the dull ache at the back of her head.

She's in control. She pulls the reigns. So take that, Reddington.


End file.
